Monday, February 06, 2006

Monday, Monday

And what a rollercoaster ride of a Monday it was.

I don't want too many more of these, because I'm not altogether sure I'm equipped to handle the rigors that come with switching from one emotional extreme to another. It takes far too much of a mental toll on me, and I end up doing what I did last night: Taking two prescribed doses of my anxiety med, loading myself up with two Starbucks Venti's, driving around town, looking for 10 gauge surgical steel flares for my ears, a nostril piercing, a few inexpensive birthday gifts for my daughter, and anyone with a friendly face to talk to, to bring me back down from that enormous cloud of burden that I tend to rest upon.

During my more emotionally stable travels yesterday morning, I came across these really kick ass hand carved skulls from Indonesia. Rather than be scientifically precise, they bear the efforts of some slight artistic freedom, but man are they fucking cool. And for a mere five bones and some pocket change a piece, I thought they would make for some interesting book ends. In the same shop, I also found some incredible masks and such that would go with the ideas I have for my home office, should I ever actually get one, so at some point I may go back and pick out a few and just store them away with the hope that the office will one day come to fruition.

(((sigh!)))

Last night was the mother fucker. I don't know if it's me feeling like I'm not pulling my weight in the family or if it's because everyone else has something of substance to do and I don't that is making me feel as if I am failing as a father/husband. In any event, I feel like I am doing nothing more than taking up space in this world; That I am sucking the life out of all whom I come in contact with. With that, Last night, some jerkoff was firing a weapon into the air at the results of the Superbowl. Understanding the laws of gravity, I went outside with the hope that I could catch a glimpse of a speeding bullet. No such luck. They stopped the moment I stepped out onto the grass. What luck, huh? Then last night, as I drove around enraged about the fight at home, I thought about wasting myself by taking a shitload of pills... some much needed rest... and Bob's your uncle. No more worries. No more trouble. Sure, there would be a few moments of sorrow, but then everyone could breathe a sigh of relief knowing that it's over.

x x x x x x x x x x

My wife tends to think that my talk of suicide is nothing more than self-talk, you know, mindless chatter for the sake of attention (I'm paraphrasing here). In fact, in one of our more recent in-depth conversations, she quite frankly told me that she knows I wouldn't do it. While there is something positive to be had in this statement, I can't help feeling as if a line has been drawn in the sand, that a "You talk the talk, now walk the walk, mother fucker" challenge has been issued. When she said she didn't think I would do it, I was taken aback. I thought, here I sit, telling you something that is more difficult for me to say than for you to hear, and my roundabout response is, "Yeah, whatever. So, anyway... today at work..."

x x x x x x x x x x

I dunno. Maybe she has some insight into me that I don't? Maybe she knows me better than I know myself? Maybe it's her way of not having to deal with what I am saying? Or maybe, just maybe, it's her way of telling me to knock off the bullshit, to either shit or get off the pot.

All I know is that I feel like nothing I say is taken seriously, that is, of course, until I've reached that point where there is absolutely no question as to my becoming pissed. I feel like I am being taken advantage of, that I am ignored on most every level; I feel like I am the fucking maid, launderer, counselor, chauffeur, handyman, emotional punching bag, bitch, cunt, on call fuck stick... I feel like I am everything to everyone else, but I am nothing to myself.

1 Comments:

You remind me so much of someone I know and loved. He didn't get help. I hope and pray that you do. Nobody should have to feel like you're feeling now. I can totally relate to feeling like a maid, laundress, and chauffeur...it's damn depressing sometimes. Know that you really are everything to your kids, and as such, you deserve to take credit for that. I can't imagine why your wife isn't taking you seriously. Unfortunately, she is taking a terrible risk and she may not even know it. Is there anybody else that knows your true feelings?

About Me

You know me. I am the cool, the nerd, the jock, the loner, the fatty, the anorexic, the "You're nice, but... let's just be friends," guy. I am the cute, the ugly, the attractive, the average, the intelligent, the stupid, and the sexy one who stands silent against an otherwise vacant wall in life. I am the serious sort, despite my rampant and often over-indulgent jocular side. I am the happy friend, quick witted, with all of the trappings of being unhappy. I am the one holding up progress in the suicide line. I am the one who unjustly possesses the golden ticket of life. I am the fearful one who guides you through your fears, but is too afraid to face my own. I am the born-again bastard with two fathers. I am the adult who never learned how to be a child, and the child who desperately searches for a modicum of adulthood. I am the poster boy for mental health, the cover model for G.Q. I am the centerfold for Playgirl and the homeless man you step over in the gutter. I am you. I am them. I am her. I am him. I am me. I am me. I am...